The wolves were dealt with quickly.

  Their bodies lay still among the brush, and Eis knelt to wipe the last streak of blood from her blade. She moved with calm precision — not rushed, not tired, simply methodical.

  The moment she sheathed her weapon, she heard it.

  Footsteps.

  Four sets.

  Approaching with too much confidence and not enough caution.

  Eis stood slowly.

  The same four Bronze-rank adventurers from earlier stepped out of the trees, forming a crooked circle around her.

  Their leader smirked.

  “Well, well. The pretty Copper can actually kill wolves.”

  Eis didn’t answer.

  The second man rolled his shoulders.

  “You embarrassed us this morning. Should’ve known you’d wander out here alone.”

  The third grinned, rope already in hand.

  “Easy target. She’ll pay back what she owes.”

  The fourth cracked his knuckles.

  “And if she fights—good. Saves us trouble.”

  They began spreading out, forming a makeshift net around her.

  The leader’s grin widened.

  “Slavers in the north pay well for girls with a… pretty look. Didn’t know we’d find merchandise so close to the city.”

  “And maybe have some fun with her first.” As the four adventurers eyed her.

  Eis’s expression didn’t change.

  But something inside her did.

  A familiar shift—

  A small, cold quieting.

  Not rage.

  Not fear.

  Just clarity.

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  “You intend to sell me,” she said softly.

  “And more,” the leader sneered. “Don’t bother struggling. We only need you alive.”

  The man with the rope stepped closer.

  Eis exhaled once, a steady breath.

  And moved.

  The rope wielder lunged first.

  Eis stepped past him, blade sliding in one smooth motion across his throat — not brutal, not violent, simply efficient.

  He dropped silently into the grass.

  The mace-wielder roared, trying to bring his weapon down on her spine.

  Eis pivoted, her second blade piercing cleanly between his ribs and into the heart — the fastest, surest way to stop a heavy striker.

  He collapsed without a scream.

  Two threats neutralized.

  In less than three seconds.

  The remaining two froze.

  Shock froze their legs.

  Fear widened their eyes.

  It hadn’t been a fight to them.

  It had been a demonstration.

  “W-wait—!” the leader choked out.

  Eis stepped toward him.

  Not fast.

  Not threatening.

  Just inevitable.

  “You will not capture me,” she said quietly.

  He stumbled backwards until his back hit a tree.

  “H-holy— she’s— she’s not even—”

  His companion turned to run—

  Eis struck the side of his knee with the flat of her blade, collapsing him instantly, then hit his temple with her hilt. He dropped unconscious.

  She grabbed the leader by the collar as he tried to crawl away, slamming him onto his back with controlled force — not enough to injure him further, just enough to stop the attempt.

  His breath trembled.

  Eis looked down at him, her expression unreadable but not cruel.

  “You chose to threaten me.”

  He whimpered.

  “You will be brought back to the guild,” she finished softly.

  She bound both surviving men with their own ropes.

  When she finished securing them, she stood still for a moment among the trees.

  The forest was silent again.

  Her heartbeat was steady.

  She looked at the two bodies — then to the two unconscious survivors.

  There was no satisfaction.

  Just a quiet acceptance.

  This is what happens when people choose cruelty.

  This is what happens when the world creates wolves in human skin.

  She inhaled deeply.

  Eis had spent years in a world where hesitation meant death.

  Killing them was necessary.

  She closed her eyes briefly.

  And then began dragging the unconscious men back toward Lumaire — muscles steady, steps measured, hands sure.

  She didn’t look back at the bodies.

  Not out of coldness.

  But because she understood:

  Some endings didn’t need memorial.

  Some endings prevented far worse beginnings.